“I’m giving her that, and could use one myself. I see your targets here. Let’s see if we can drive this rat out of his fucking hole.”
Feeney’s basset-hound eyes lifted to the rearview mirror. “We’ll get him, Roarke. I don’t give my word unless I know damn well I can keep it, and I’m giving my word on it. We should’ve had him twenty couple years ago, me and Jack, but, fuck me, we’ll get him now.”
Roarke settled into the work, and the work settled him. “He’s mad to kill me. Hot and mad to put me in the ground, and that’s why he’ll never manage it.”
They swept, knocked on doors, reviewed footage from the subway.
They found a handful of people who’d seen him on foot—or thought they had—between Perry and West Twelfth.
He hadn’t used the subway, not in that area in any case. One of the safe houses had a family of three—one barely old enough to walk—in residence.
Feeney spotted them going in, loaded with shopping bags.
The other showed no heat signals.
Eve sent cops to knock on neighboring doors, then sent detectives in soft clothes to scout the perimeter.
But her gut said Cobbe had gone back into his hole.
Because she had Abernathy in tow, Eve sent Roarke to Central with EDD.
“I hope you take this the way it’s meant,” Abernathy said as she drove back to Central. “You’re a maniac at the wheel—the way it’s meant’s a compliment. We couldn’t have missed him by much.”
“We missed him, so by how much doesn’t matter.”
Abernathy consulted his notes, added more. “Why would he contact Roarke that way? Why risk it?”
“He needs to taunt and threaten. He thinks he’s being cold-blooded, but what he is, is hotheaded.”
Abernathy looked at her with a nod as they turned into Central’s garage. “You’re right on that. Roarke’s his Achilles’ heel. He knows how to be precise, focused, impersonal. He’s none of those now. We might’ve taken him right on the street while he strolled along, stewing.”
“We didn’t,” she said flatly.
He got out of the car with Eve while Peabody climbed out of the back.
“I understand your frustration, Lieutenant, all too well. There’s been a time or two I knew I was close, when I believed we were within a hairsbreadth. But this is different. He could right himself,” Abernathy continued as they walked to the elevator. “He may shake off this rage that’s pushing him and right himself, be gone in a snap. But I don’t think he will. I’m not at all sure he can. You heard him speaking to Roarke, you heard as I did that furious excitement, the depth of the hate.”
“I heard him.”
Eve got on the elevator. She wanted five minutes with Roarke—five minutes alone.
“I think …”
She sucked it up—and as Abernathy might have said, righted herself. He probably knew Cobbe better than anyone but Roarke. And maybe better yet.
“What?”
“I think he feels, believes, killing Roarke would be worth dying for. Until now, I would say self-preservation would be his number one, closely followed by the thrill of killing, and the wealth it brings him. But now? I think killing Roarke, and you as well, that’s above all.”
She studied Abernathy. “What about prison? Is it worth that?”
“You’re right that for many prison’s worse than death. He’d risk it, I think, yes. But he’d see himself dead first, going on a blaze, so to speak, as long as he takes Roarke with him.”
“We agree on all of that.”
“Dallas,” Peabody interrupted. “Neighbors reporting the house is currently unoccupied. Nobody’s been in or out in the last few days.”
“Might still be using it, but likely outside the perimeter we set. Have the team use that perimeter for the shops—upscale menswear and all that. He had a reason to be in that sector.
“Blocked the video,” she muttered, inside her own head enough not to bother to push off when cops pushed on. “Didn’t want Roarke to see where he was, be able to nail down where he was. Why do that? Because you’re staying in that area, or doing business in that area. Restaurants, too. Bars. Keep it upscale. LCs,” she continued as she did push off, on her level.
“Let’s get his data to the top agencies in the city. He may want sex.”
She turned into the bullpen. “Get that started, Peabody. Maybe you could assist there,” she said to Abernathy.
She just needed to shake him off for five damn minutes.
“Of course, wherever I’m useful.”
“You may have the best knowledge of the type of woman, food, drink, even damn footwear he goes for. We need to—”
She broke off as Roarke came in.
“Peabody, you and the inspector get—”
But Abernathy had already started forward, a hand outstretched to Roarke.
“Inspector Abernathy, Interpol. It’s good to meet you. Can we talk?”
“I need to debrief Roarke,” Eve began.
“Of course.” Thoroughly pleasant, Abernathy nodded. “Shall we use your office?”
Not going to shake off. Well, Eve thought, in his place neither would she.
“We’ll use the lounge.”
16
As they walked down, Roarke could all but hear the wheels turning in her head. How to handle this—or more specifically, the inspector. How to skim the line between cop and colleague, wife and shield.
He could have told her she had no need to worry. He’d dealt with Abernathys before. But he supposed it was, indeed, all different now.
And that meant he had a line to skim himself. He would do nothing, absolutely nothing, that would put his lieutenant in a squeeze.
Abernathy smiled, continuing the thoroughly pleasant demeanor—and Roarke imagined Eve saw, as clearly as he did, the cop calculation behind the facade.
Jamming him up, as Eve had put it, might not have been Abernathy’s priority. But what cop could resist the attempt?
“I don’t want to take too much of your time,” Abernathy began. “I certainly don’t want to take you away from your work, especially at this point, Lieutenant.”
“This is my work,” Eve said flatly as she turned into the lounge. “The coffee sucks in here.” She took a table, sat. “If you want something, I suggest you go with water or soft drink tubes.”
“No need.” The inspector sat, folded his hands on the table and looked at Roarke. “First, I want to express my sincere gratitude for all your help in this matter. The personal and detailed information you’ve offered regarding Cobbe is and will be extremely helpful in finally bringing him to justice.”
“Our goals are the same,” Roarke said.
“Of course. If I could, just to clarify …” He took out his notebook. “Working back from your sighting of Cobbe in Washington Square Park on the night of Ms. Modesto’s death. You spoke of an encounter with Cobbe in a bar in the South of France. I wonder if you could be more specific on the time and place. Perhaps if you tell us what you were doing there it would help pinpoint that date and location.”
Under the table, Roarke squeezed Eve’s knee before she could object.